


Cycles

by HowardR



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dimension Travel, I Tried, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm Not Ashamed, I'm Sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:34:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HowardR/pseuds/HowardR
Summary: When Harry goes to sleep, his biggest worry is how he's going to get that memory out of Slughorn.When he wakes up, his biggest worry is...Well, there are too many worries of massive importance to decide. But the first thing he thinks about - his first worry, if you will - is;Where the hell is he?
Relationships: Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 10
Kudos: 36





	1. Prologue: Constants

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to J. K, of course.
> 
> Please forgive the philosophical ramblings. I promise they're important to the story later.

Cyclical.

This is the word by which the universe is run. This is the rule which the universe abides. This is the center of everything.

The cycle.

...Isn’t it?

But what happens when the circle is cut? What happens when the train falls off its rails, the bridge collapses, and the world spirals into infinite abyss?

What happens when the cycle, inevitably perhaps, breaks?

Is it a cycle at all if it is broken?

Is the break a part of the cycle?

Is this cyclical loop merely a small cog in a much larger, more complex, more consistently functioning loop?

...And what does it mean for these ants on the surface of the circle?

What does it mean for the only beings who can ask these questions?

Does everything really just… end?

What is meaning if it won’t persist? What is your life worth if it might as well not have existed when the loop begins again?

And is change truly the only constant? 

Is it even a constant at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, really, I promise these philosophical ramblings become important later. Just hang with me for now, please.
> 
> This is officially the first Harry Potter story I've written which isn't just mindless power fantasy with a light peppering of interesting ideas. I'm hoping to actually explore this world and the characters within.
> 
> Oh, and what ship do you guys want? I'm a bit tired of Drarry, personally, but nearly anything else is okay. And Harry... *technically* isn't underage in this, so uhh... watch out for smut.
> 
> Nah. I probably won't do smut.
> 
> ...No promises.
> 
> Less smart then I like to think I am,
> 
> -Howard R.


	2. Wandering Thoughts.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry thinks for a little bit.

As Harry stared up at the ceiling, he considered the fact that he could easily die in two years.

_As a matter of fact,_ he thought distantly, oddly aloof and out-of-body, _that feels like the most likely option at the moment._

The Gryffindor mattress spread caved slightly under his weight, arms spread and eyes unfocused. The ceiling above him was massive and spiraled up for what seemed to be forever - which made sense, given that they were in a tower. The moonlight spilled across him, curtains wide open to let it in, and seemed to weigh down parts of him.

Everything seemed so suddenly distant.

During the day, all this problems felt so damn _real._ So _important._ Like every one of them was his whole life, the next schooldays only holding impacts from the last week or so. School drama felt like the conflict in his narrative, his friends seemed like the only concerns on his shoulders. His lessons with Dumbledore were almost _fun,_ especially considering the source material, and even the darker subjects seemed simply thought-provoking. Even his mission to get that memory out of Slughorn felt like…

Well… like a school assignment.

But here, lying on his back, dead silence and darkness draping over him, he felt almost like a ghost. Like he had floated out of his body, and was drifting weightlessly through thoughts and problems.

And here, just here, he considered the fact that he _wasn’t_ a normal kid.

And thus came the thoughtline he found himself in now.

_In two years, I’ll be outside the protection of Hogwarts. Dumbledore might still protect me, but he won’t have any legal jurisdiction. Voldemort is still out there, plotting and prowling, and the second I graduate…_

_I lose the home-field advantage._ _I’ll_ _be in_ _his_ _territory._

He chuckled.

_Look at me now, making football comparisons. Dean would be proud._

His chuckles died, tapering into the darkness with nary an echo.

_In two years, I lose one of my biggest advantages._

_And then, I die._

For some reason, he didn’t feel anything at the revelation.

It was pretty old news, really. He had nearly died, what, five times at least in the last five years? Maybe even closer to something like a dozen, if you were liberal.

Really, he had never _not_ been in danger. At home, there always seemed to be some possibility that Vernon would finally snap or Petunia would forget to feed him for a while too long, and he’d just… die. In a cupboard, lost and forgotten.

He wondered idly what Vernon and Petunia would do if he had. 

Surely they wouldn’t cover it up?

Sure, they were awful to him, but doesn’t everybody that isn’t a straight psychopath have a little voice in their head that goes,

_You deserve to be punished for this._

If you find a _dead child_ in a cupboard in your house?

But…

But Petunia had always cared about appearances, and, frankly, Vernon had always seemed a little… sadistic. Going to prison for neglect, abuse and some degree of murder or other would be an unthinkable fate for Petunia, and Vernon would resist arrest at best if it came down to it.

Would they cover his death up?

He wondered how long it would take anyone to figure it out if they did.

It depended, he supposed. If they just tossed him in a river or something, then the news would come around to the cops pretty soon and they’d probably end up busted.

But if they buried him out in the middle of nowhere… then it’d probably take until Dumbledore came a-knockin for anyone to suspect anything. Hell, if Petunia told him that Harry’d just run away, and Dumbledore didn’t use occlumency, then they might just get away with it for another few months on top of that. If they had the sense to run away, then they may very well get a few more days, if they went cross-country with fake IDs then they might even get a few extra weeks.

Heh. It was a funny image - Vernon, Petunia and Dudley, living on the run, with noir trench coats and fedoras to conceal their identities.

...Wait.

What about Dudley?

Would Dudley just go along with it?

Okay, sure, on the one hand, Dudley clearly hated Harry and bullied him constantly. But it never did go _too_ far - Dudley had never seemed… sadistic. Everyone, occasionally, just likes to beat up someone to let out some frustration. Vernon and Petunia had clearly enabled Dudley’s hate. Hell, he had practically been _rewarded_ for beating Harry up.

And it wasn’t like Harry didn’t goad him, just a little bit. That didn’t mean it was _okay,_ but, in hindsight…

Harry could’ve handled it better. The blame wasn’t all on Dudley’s end.

If Harry ended up _dead,_ though… what would Dudley do?

It was an interesting thought, at least.

Oh. Right. His own mortality. That was what he had been thinking about.

...Eh. Who cares.

Death is _clearly_ a problem for future Harry.

Harry chuckled a bit, and finally rolled on his side. He closed his eyes, and let sleep come.

* * *

The next day, nobody could find him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, something comprehensible.
> 
> ...Not even four hours after the prologue.
> 
> So, I ask again - what ship do ya'll want? Again, I'm just a little sick of Drarry, but nearly anything else I'll consider. This is the site of ships, so let's hope ya'll got some good ones.
> 
> Less smart then I like to think I am,
> 
> -Howard R.


	3. Very, Very Wrong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry wakes up in a very confusing place.

“Oh,  _ fuck…” _

Harry wasn’t prone to cussing. He  _ really  _ wasn’t. But, sometimes, it was justified.

And when his head was  _ splitting open,  _ he let the filter down for a moment.

He sat up, cradling his head and wincing as his skull pulsed hotly. He squinted against the bright light, and someone thundered in discomfort in his head - steps like drills against the ends of his skull.

A single thick, greasy bead of sweat rolled slowly down his cheek and off his chin.

He moaned in pain, dropping his head into his hands and blocking out the sunlight as best he could. Everything felt just a little bit awful, and the colours peeking through his fingers were bright and sharp.

Especially the green.

Wait…  _ green? _

He rubbed at his eyes, cracking one open experimentally…

And slammed it shut the second he did, a dagger of painful light stabbing at him when it saw an opening.

_ Okay, what the hell. I’ve never had a headache like this. _

_ Well, _ he corrected a moment later,  _ no, I HAVE. It was… _

_ When Voldemort touched my forehead. _

That was when Harry decided he needed to know what was happening  _ right now. _

He kept his eyes closed for one last blissful moment, soaking in the lack of pain…

And then forced them open.

Instantly, the light attacked him. His eyes felt like acid and the stomping in his head turned into explosions of shrapnel, leaving painful slivers in his skull and pulsing in agitation. His vision was a multicolor soup of harsh edges and soft planes, white and neon mixing together and swirling before him.

Harry thought, in some distant corner of his mind not overridden by complete pain, that it would be quite beautiful if it didn’t hurt so much.

His hands gripped the ground, the only point of reference that wasn’t swirling and melting, like a lifeline. It was warm beneath him, grainy dirt and dewey grass clumping in his palms.

He didn’t know that he had that much strength. Few people know how hard they can  _ really _ grip before they have their skull splitting and everything is liquifying.

After what felt like an eternity but might have only been a few minutes, the colours finally shifted and re-formed into something recognisable.

...And that was when the questions began.

Because the recognizable shape was the ground.

_...Where the hell am I? _   
  


He squinted experimentally, the last vestiges of soupy colour clearing. Nope, still the ground.

He pinched his arm.

Ow.

Okay, not dreaming then. Good to at least rule that one out.

He shook his head, hair whipping back and forth, and squinted again.

Nope, that was  _ definitely _ the ground. No doubt about that - he had lived with the thing for the last sixteen years, he knew what it looked like.

...Had he fallen asleep on the ground? He didn’t think so.

No… no, he had fallen asleep in his bed, like always. He had been thinking about Slughorn and how to get that memory… then about his own mortality… then about the Dursleys on the run with trenchcoats…

  
Maybe he had had a weird dream… something about Dobby, maybe…?

And then he’d woken up here.

On the ground.

Outside.

Okay, cool, he’d confirmed that this was definitely  _ very _ weird.

He glanced around.

Okay, cool, there was Hogwarts. Standing tall behind him in all its splendor. Awesome.

So he hadn’t teleported across the country or anything… maybe someone was playing a prank on him?

But the twins had left school and Malfoy couldn’t get into Gryffindor tower, so… who, why and when?

“Okay, very funny Ron. Now come on, we need to get to class.”

They probably did, too. It looked like late morning.

“Ron?”

He jumped twelve feet in the air, turning around with a hand already on his wand.

Or pocket, at least.

Cool. Still had his wand.

...Oh, it was just Dumbledore.

“I’m sorry, sir - you scared the daylights outta me.” He said easily, a relieved smile already blooming on his face.

Awesome. Nothing was wrong, he had probably just been taken out the tower as a prank, and now Dumbledore was wandering around outside because…

Well, because he was Dumbledore.

“No need to apologize, my boy.  _ I _ scared  _ you, _ after all. Really, I should be the one apologizing.”

Harry chuckled, standing up and brushing himself off.

“No, sir, I just felt like I needed to apologize for being out here during school hours.” He explained, picking what felt like a leaf out of his hair.

Huh. It was more green then he had expected.

“School..? Oh, no, no need to worry about that.” The Headmaster said easily, flapping an unconcerned hand. “Besides, I need something to break up the monotony once and a while - and finding a student outside on the lawn will certainly do that!”

He chuckled. Harry did too.

...Wait.

He looked around, furrowing his brow. He could have been  _ sure… _

“Sir? Where’s the Whomping Willow?”

Dumbledore blinked at him, half-moon spectacles glinting cheerily.

“The… the tree? My boy, if we had one of those, I’m sure I would know about it.”

Harry blinked back.

“But… but it was right here! The… the Whomping Willow, of  _ course _ we have one, sir - you really aren’t one to play jokes like this.”

Dumbledore looked slightly confused and  _ very  _ intrigued, but nodded.

“Correct, I am not. Which is why I’m not playing a joke.”

“But… this is where the Willow is! Surely you remember - we… you…”

He looked around.

There was something very, very  _ wrong. _

“Sir… what’s your favorite jam flavor?”

God, if there was one thing he had never imagined asking Dumbledore…

“Why, what a great birthday gift idea, my boy! It is raspberry, for your information.”

“Heh.” He chuckled slightly, relief flooding his bones.

Dumbledore always knew what would end up being useful information.

Okay, so this  _ was _ Dumbledore. Which either meant what Dumbledore thought was false, or…

Or what Harry thought Dumbledore  _ should _ think was false.

So, which was it?

...Well, Harry  _ couldn’t _ be wrong, right? He had been  _ inside  _ the Whomping Willow, he had  _ seen _ it, it had  _ been here… _

But… it wasn’t, was it?

This is exactly where it had been. Exactly where Harry was standing.

And it wasn’t anymore.

And Dumbledore hadn’t heard of it.

_ Shit. _

Okay, why wouldn’t the Willow be there?

...Well, why had it been there in the first place?

“Sir, have you… you know Remus Lupin, right?”

Dumbledore blinked. And then, suddenly, his face cleared.

“Ah, you’re his boy! Oh, no wonder you’re here early - asking about the Willow, too - of course, I should have guessed!”

Dumbledore looked quite happy about something.

“Teddy, isn’t it?” The Headmaster went on easily, raising an eyebrow.

_...What. _

_ Okay, Dumbledore thinks I’m Teddy, I guess. _

_ Fine. I can work with this. _

“That’s me.” I said easily, smiling. Dumbledore smiled back.

He looked younger, for some reason.

“I must admit, you don’t look how I imagined you would - a quirk of being a metamorphmagus, I suppose, but still a bit odd.” Dumbledore squinted at him. “You look quite a bit like Harry Potter, actually - slightly longer hair, a little paler, and a bit more… weary, for lack of a better term, but essentially…”

Dumbledore trailed off, unsquinting and smiling again. He turned and began to lead Harry into Hogwarts.

_...Huh. Um… okay, let’s just see where this goes, then. _

“Well, Mr. Lupin, I suppose I’m supposed to give you the grand tour, so to speak. We’re in the courtyard, now-”

Harry subconsciously tuned him out. Dumbledore did have a tendency to ramble, and Harry already knew all this.

_ Okay, I guess Dumbledore thinks I’m… Remus’s son? And a metamorphmagus. _

_ But he still knows me - or Harry Potter, I guess - but he just… doesn’t think I’m him, for some reason? _

_ And what did he mean by ‘here early’? And where’s the Willow? _

Harry had the oddest feeling that something very bad was happening.

“Um, excuse me, Sir?” He cut in, as Dumbledore explained the long history of a statue they had passed two corridors ago. “I already know all this.”

Dumbledore turned to him, and, for a moment, he had the oddest look on his face - like a kind of curiosity mixed with dread.

It vanished a moment later, replaced with his usual polite accommodation.

Huh. Must’ve been a trick of the light.

“Ah, of course you do, my boy. After all…” He went on, a tiny smile touching his lips and a conspiratorial light in his eyes. “Who would know better then the son of the cartographers themselves, eh?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about, Sir.” Harry responded instantly, perfect innocence painted on his face.

Snape had forced him to get used to doing that on the flip of a coin.

Dumbledore chuckled, looking strangely relieved about something.

“Of course not - I’m just rambling like the old bat I am.” Dumbledore responded, turning and walking easily. “Well, we’ll just be dropping by my office - we must get you sorted, after all.”

Harry blinked, but did his best to take it in stride.

“Of course, Sir.”

_ Yes - something is very, VERY wrong. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ships. Gimme those ships.
> 
> Not as smart as I like to think I am,
> 
> -Howard R.


	4. Tom Marvolo Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry talks to Dumbledore and gets no answers.

Harry, it must be noted quickly, has developed a very odd kind of relationship with Hogwarts.

There are, generally, more than a few ways for children to see Hogwarts. For the wizarding children with happy home lives - the majority of children, really - it’s just a school. A very large, very nice school, but still  _ school. _ It never even quite occurs to them that Hogwarts might be more than that.

Then, there are the wizarding children who  _ don’t _ have happy home lives. For them, above all else, it is a home. A normal home. Sure, there are assignments and spells to learn and so on. But, really, deep down, it is the place they feel safe. Their house is like their family - the head, a parent, and all the other students siblings.

For muggle children, it is a whole new world. The place where their magic can first flourish. The introduction to a new life. But, really, no matter how long they live, they can never quite bring themselves to accept it fully as  _ theirs, _ unless they are very, very good at adapting, or they have some important role in that world.

But Harry is in a very unique position. His whole life, he idolized his parents. Longed to be with them. Longed to have a life with them.

And thus, he found himself fitting into the wizarding world quickly. Forcing himself to accept it as  _ his. _ Really, the knowledge of the wizarding world is the first thing he  _ ever _ felt was his. This secret protector and whole world that the Dursleys couldn’t touch, no matter what.

And, of course, Hogwarts was his home, in a way.

But, at the same time, it was a setting for constant peril. At the same time, it was like some insane storybook, with winding villainous schemes and secret plots around every corner.

Hogwarts was a hub for everything  _ wizard. _ The good, the bad. The safe and the dangerous. The thrilling and the boring.

It was his home. It was his world. It was his  _ life. _

It was none of these.

It was all of them.

And yet, Hogwarts also - very rarely - seemed like a living thing. In fifth year, it felt like the castle was on his side - like it was blocking the door to his room to keep out the Dursleys while he hid his schoolwork. In second year, it had felt like a beast - a predator. Sprawling forests of unimaginable beasts and an underbelly with a creature whose stare kills you.

Hogwarts was his home.

Hogwarts was his family.

Hogwarts was his friend.

Hogwarts was his parent.

Hogwarts was…

He had no words for it. Had no words for just how he felt, when he looked at the looming spectre of it over the starry night sky. The sensation in his gut. An odd combination of love, fear, giddiness and anxiety, all bubbling and fuming and making something new and alien.

He knew Hogwarts. And Hogwarts, sometimes, seemed to know him.

This was, really, why it felt so unbearably  _ wrong _ to not see the Whomping Willow out on the grounds from Dumbledore’s window.

“Well, Teddy - let’s get you sorted, shall we?”

He nodded, eyes still staring at the empty spot of grass out the window.

And thus, it only occurred to Harry just how bad an idea it was to let the sorting hat in his head when the hat in question was already looming over him.

It dropped. Sounds were muffled quickly.

_...Well, Mr. Potter, I must say you have gotten yourself in quite the conundrum. _

A moment later (much to his confusion) the hat spoke.

“All right, you can drop the facade now, Albus. He’s trustworthy.”

The hat was swept off his head, and he heard a sigh of relief.

“Well, my boy,” Dumbledore said, sitting across from him with a relieved smile, “I must say you gave me quite the scare!”

“...Scare, sir?”

“Why don’t we start with some introductions?” Dumbledore answered, sweeping away the topic with a wave of his hand. Like it was a bothersome fly.

Harry felt a little bit of familiar annoyance bubble in his gut at the Headmaster’s casual attitude, but ignored it.

“...Why don’t you explain what’s going on first, sir?”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, because I must have a name to call you, musn’t I?”

“I’m…”

He trailed off, unsure how exactly to finish his sentence.

Dumbledore didn’t know him.

The castle was wrong.

Nobody was here, even though it was in the middle of the school year.

And everything was  _ very  _ wrong.

And he wasn’t quite sure who he could trust.

“I…”

Dumbledore made a gesture that clearly said ‘yes?’

“I’m… not quite sure if I should say, sir.”

Dumbledore blinked.

“Whatever do you mean, my boy?”

“I just…”

Harry trailed off, making sure to avert his eyes.

_ Just in case. _

“I’m not sure what’s going on, sir. Everything seems… wrong. And, if everything’s wrong, then…”

“Then  _ you _ could be too, sir.” Harry finished, gathering his hands in his lap and wincing slightly.

“...That’s quite logical, my boy.” Dumbledore answered, after a long pause. “But, of course, there are problems with your assessment.”

“There are, sir?” Harry made sure to never look directly into Dumbledore’s eyes.

“Why, yes, of course. The most obvious being that you are going to have to attend my school in a few days time, and I need to know your name so that you can be in the roll call.”

“I… what?”

Dumbledore smiled, and his eyes sparkled.

“Well, you are sixteen, aren’t you? You’re going to need to attend anyway, especially considering you already seem to be a student.”

“I - I can’t just-!”

“Well, sure you can!” Dumbledore chirped, standing and sweeping across the room. He pet Fawkes, popping a lemon drop into his mouth.

_ It seems some things never change, no matter how weird things are. _

“You seem to be a stranger to this time and/or place, and you need someplace to go! Besides,” Dumbledore turned and winked at him. “I can’t let you skimp on your education.”

He sputtered.

“So, what name should I put on the records?”

Harry did his best to gather himself. It was quite easy, actually, since he had spent his life dealing with complete insanity at the end of every year for the last five.

“I…”

Harry said the first name that came to mind. In hindsight, that was very stupid, but he had been quite scatter-brained at the time.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Dumbledore’s eyes sharpened and latched onto him so fast that Harry shrunk back a little - though he still made sure to flick his eyes away.

“...Tom. Riddle.” Dumbledore said slowly, raising an eyebrow like he was confirming.

“Er… yeah.”

“...Well, then, Tom!” Dumbledore answered, though Harry knew him well enough to hear the slight strain in the cheery tone. “Let’s get you set for classes!”

He opened up a seemingly random drawer and reached his arm elbow-deep into it, pulling out a quill and scratching something out.

Harry sat there, feeling like he had just done something either very smart or very stupid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like? No Like?
> 
> What's going on? Will we get answers anytime soon?
> 
> Who knows!
> 
> Happy Father's Day!
> 
> Not as Smart as I Like to Think I Am,
> 
> -Howard R.


	5. A Clean Slate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry gets sorted.

“Well, then, Tom - let’s get you sorted!”

“I - I’m sorry, sir?”

Dumbledore swept forward with a cheery grin, all strain either gone or (more likely, as far as Harry was concerned) expertly masked. He picked up the hat, and plopped it firmly on Herry’s head. Shadow fell over his eyes, and the strong smell of old leather filled his nostrils.

**_Well, here we are again, Mr. Potter._ **

_ Uh… yeah. Sorry? _

**_No need to apologize, I find these situations quite fascinating._ **

_ Well, not much to say, really. _ He answered, though the ‘conversation’ was, once again, the strangest one he had ever been a part of.  _ Just put me in Gryffindor and get this over with. _

**_Why, what on earth are you talking about, Mr. Potter?_ **

_ …? _

His confusion rang clear in his head without any thoughts to define it. He wasn’t quite sure if that made the conversation easier, or if the strangeness of it made it all the harder.

**_If I was interested in doing that, I would’ve told Albus before I was ever placed upon your head! I’m not interested in wasting time, you know._ **

_ But… but I’ve already been sorted. I’m in Gryffindor. _

**_Ah, but you’ve also already been enrolled - and that’s happening again, isn’t it?_ **

_ That’s not the same. _

**_How is it not?_ **

And, of course, Harry had no answer.

**_And besides, this situation is far too interesting - and deserved - to just put you straight back in Gryffindor._ **

_...Deserved? _

**_Why, yes, Mr. Potter. Or perhaps I should say Mr. Riddle now, hm?_ **

The hat sounded unreasonably smug about something. Harry was beginning to get the feeling that even the  _ hat _ was different, and if that wasn’t scary then he didn’t know what was.

_ What are you talking about? _

**_Well, Mr. Riddle, I do believe that this is a rather inexplicable situation, yes?_ **

_...And? _

**_Well, where there is the inexplicable - there is magic._ **

_ I’m not following. _

**_My firmest belief, Mr. Riddle, is that this is your… rebirth, so to speak._ **

_...Still not following. _

**_Well, think about it. You certainly didn’t deserve what happened to you, that dreadful Halloween night. It was the cruelest of jokes, played only by the previous Mr. Riddle - before you usurped his name. Though, if I may believe what has been told to me, he didn’t really want it anyway._ **

**_I think, Mr. Riddle, that this is your second chance. That, after your life was stolen by a man that magic herself must hate - as she hated Herpo the Foul for the creation of the Horcrux - she decided to test you. First, with eleven years of torment - and then, with labours. Five of them, to be precise._ **

**_The first, a labour of companionship - to see, not if you could overcome a goal, but if you could get the right friends to do it with you. Then, with a labour of courage. Going to face a beast you have no hope of defeating, and standing up for what is right. Then, with a labour of mercy. Forcing you to choose between vengeance and morality. Then, a labour of determination - giving it your all, even when your best friend had abandoned you and all hope seemed lost. Even when you were at the end of Voldemort’s wand, you decided to either survive or die trying. And, last - and perhaps least, I am not a judge of worth - a labour of rebellion. To see if you would fold beneath an evil system and accept that it is unbeatable, or rise up against it._ **

**_And you passed._ **

**_And now, you get a second chance. A new name, and a face nobody recognizes. No ties. No tragedy. No fame._ **

**_A clean slate. Just for you._ **

...A… a clean slate.

Harry hadn’t thought of it like that.

A world… a world where everything seemed  _ almost _ the same, but just different enough that nobody knew him. A place enough like home that he could navigate it, but where nobody would recognize his scar.

A clean slate.

_ I…  _

**_And, if that IS the case, Mr. Riddle - who am I to deny it to you? Especially considering what you’ve done for Hogwarts in the past. I’m sure she was singing her thanks, in your world - even if it was in a foreign tongue._ **

**_So, Mr. Riddle, I offer to you a choice I have never offered anyone before._ **

**_Choose._ **

_...Huh? _

**_Choose your house. Any one you like._ **

**_I’ll wait._ **

...The idea was, admittedly, appealing.

It made sense, at least. Far more so than any explanation Harry had. How else could he have ended up here, but a magical circumstance beyond recognition?

He wasn’t so sure about the ‘trials’ nonsense, but the hat did seem to have a flare for dramatics. Probably an exaggeration.

But then again - the hat was  _ also _ a thousand years old and made of pure magic. It’d read the mind of more people than Harry could count, with probably more than one genius mixed in there.

It might have the right idea.

And…

And  _ God, _ the idea was appealing.

A clean slate? For  _ him? _ Christ, it was almost too much to believe.

It was, perhaps, what he wanted more than anything else in the world.

A  _ clean slate. _   
  


Even the words sounded like dark, sweet honey in his head. His lips formed the words, and he could almost feel the sounds leaving his mouth.

They tasted sweet, too.

...He had a  _ clean slate. _

So - what colour would he dye it? With what ink would he write his life story?

What house should he go in?

Instantly, Gryffindor was on the tip of his tongue. Or mental equivalent.

And then, the question popped up in the back of his head, lapping at the words like fire and causing their edges to crinkle and compress.

_ Why? _

…

Why.

It struck him like a thunderbolt when he realized he had no answer.

_ I mean, I would fit there - but that doesn’t matter. The hat’s asking me to choose the house I WANT, not that I would fit into. _

_ And… _

_ And there’s no real reason to want it. _

His parents had been there.

_ But in this world, he had no parents. _

_ In this world, they may very well NOT have been there. _

_ And, even if they had… _

_ What did that matter? _

His friends were there.

_ Not in this world. _

He liked everyone there.

_ Do you? _

_ What about Parvarti, hm? Or Lavender? _

_ Or Pettigrew? _

_ Do you like them? _

_ Do you even KNOW most of the people in Gryffindor, really? _

Courage was a good trait.

_ In the right context, sure. But the line between courage and stupidity is very thin. _

It was better than the other houses, anyway.

_...Why? _

And, once again, he had no answer.

_ Okay, well, let’s work backwards then. Elimination. _

_ So, instantly - no Slytherin. _

He hated Slytherins. That was true no matter the world.

_ So… not Ravenclaw either, right? _

...Yeah. Yeah, he would make a really lousy Ravenclaw. No interest in his studies, making slightly above-average grades (but below average for Ravenclaws). No, Ravenclaw wasn’t for him.

_ So - Hufflepuff, or Gryffindor? _

**_Alright, I’m going to stop you there, and answer for you._ **

_ Wait, what? _

**_This is taking too long. Besides, you’ve already given up on the two best answers. You’re clearly too young to make this decision and understand it._ **

**_I should’ve seen that._ **

_ Wait, no-! _

“RAVENCLAW!”

And Harry could hear a distinct sense of smugness in the hat’s tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hah. The Hat is a little evil in this world.
> 
> And he offers an explanation! Finally, something that makes sense.
> 
> I think that'll probably conclude Part 1 of this fic. I think, after this is all done, that I'm going to copy down the comments and condense all these chapters into just the parts, with each part being around 5k to 10k words.
> 
> I might add another chapter to this part. It might end up being the Part 2 prologue instead.
> 
> I like to keep you all on your toes.
> 
> Not as Smart as I Like to Think I Am,
> 
> -Howard R.


	6. Part 2 Prologue: Seidr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry dreams of trains.

Black.

Rattling wheels.

The structures loomed over him like massive trees, the branches of lamposts and balconies seeming to blend into the kaleidoscope sky. The lights of stars sparkled as windows on a building, and the stones were the colour of dying twilight.

The sky was rattling.

A train, maybe?

He couldn’t bring himself to question anything. This was his reality. This was truth.

It never occurred to him to think otherwise.

He glanced around, soaking in the colours and sounds. Something like the groaning of a ship and the pitter-patter of light rain, accompanying the fierce rattling of the train under his feet. The moon seemed to be in mid-eclipse, only a thin ring left looming over him.

...No. No, not an eclipse.

It was like… the moon was a tear in the sky, carved by a being who slept in the buildings there. Something eldritch, and unknowable.

He walked across the sky. Or… roof. Of the train car. Or maybe the pile of materials in a freight car, because it was cold and slightly yielding. Like soft, powdered snow.

It didn’t burn him, though, like normal cold. Instead, it almost seemed to warm him - to hug at his feet and lick lovingly at his heels.

The train car was black as charcoal. The sky had only the lightest touch of blue. The windows, which were stars, of course, were yellow. Or maybe more orange - like setting sun.

And the white stars, on the stones in the sky. Like little holes punched in reality, perfectly circular.

There was a woman.

...Well, _woman._ It was… the closest thing he could think of.

It’s skin was like ice with light shining through it, a whitish blue with a cold harshness to it. It seemed, though, to almost… _melt,_ to drip and shift like damascened steel. And it wasn’t quite… skin. It was more like a dress, but it formed around them like skin, and left no signs that there was anything underneath.

It’s eyes pierced him, pinkish-purple, bright enough to drip a chill down his spine. The stare of something whose thoughts you couldn’t know.

It’s smile was empty, in both the literal and figurative sense. Like a gash across their face.

They swept forward, so quickly that they were but a blur. Hands reached up to frame his face, and one of them tilted his jaw up to expose the skin of his neck and force his eyes to meet it’s.

...Her’s.

Her’s?

It… it felt like a her.

He wasn’t on the train. It had swept him onto the ground, and the cold steel was burrowing into his feet.

It… _She_ grinned at him, wide and empty and almost… pitying.

He felt fire course through his veins where her skin had met his. Burning, and coursing, like a river of knives.

“You want a name.”

His voice came out a bare whisper, naked with fear and confusion and something he couldn’t pinpoint.

Her other hand went into his stomach. He sucked in a half-breath at the pain.

His chest lurched up. Her nails - or fingertips, maybe - dug into his skin, and tilted his jaw to compensate his movement, making sure he kept his eyes locked on her’s.

A train whistle, like a shriek.

Wheels clattering.

The rails rattled.

A light began to envelope him, and just barely scraped the edges of her form.

She smiled even wider, somehow. Her arm melted into him, quietly slithering into his veins and snuggling into him.

He stared.

“...”

_“Seidr.”_

The sound bubbled from his lungs, his lips forming the word with purpose and beauty. It felt like magic on his tongue, popping and fizzling with happiness.

It was just… _right,_ in a way he couldn’t quantify.

The woman seemed to agree, if her widening smile was an indicator. Which it might not be.

The trains shrieked again, and the light burned his back.

And it collided.

* * *

He woke, covered in a cold sweat and without breath. His hand settled against his ribcage as he desperately sucked in air like a drowning man.

He glanced over.

His holly and phoenix feather wand sat innocently on his nightstand.

He reached over, gently, and picked up the wand, fingers curling. The familiar deep-seated warmth flooded him.

He held the wand before him in both of his hands, like a child. Stared at it.

“...Seidr.”

It sounded… _wrong,_ outside his dreams. Like the air around it didn’t quite yield right, and mangled it’s inconceivable beauty.

The wand, predictably, didn’t respond.

...Still.

Might as well keep the name.

“Seidr.” He repeated, with more purpose. With certainty, this time.

The wand still didn’t respond. He couldn’t bring himself to take it as a bad or good sign.

He sighed, and got up.

He wouldn’t be able to sleep again after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That dream sequence was loosely inspired by a sequence in Night in the Woods. It's a rather great game, check it out if you've got some time.
> 
> Not as Smart as I Like to Think I Am,
> 
> -Howard R.


	7. Extras: Green

Hermione Granger had often speculated on when exactly her life had began to go downhill.

She liked things making sense. She liked pinning events in place, and forcing them to  _ stay _ in that place. She liked narrowing down consequences to a single choice, that she or someone else had made. She liked things to follow a logical path to their conclusion.

She liked seeing her situation and knowing exactly how she had gotten there - and who was to blame.

She had decided that the day her life started to go downhill was a very beautiful one.

When she had woken up, the smallest amount of dried drool on her chin and sunrays peeking through the blinds, she had hardly noticed what a gorgeous day it was. Especially considering it had begun to get cold. It was around thirteen degrees - celsius, of course, which was around 55 degrees fahrenheit if her math wasn’t off (which it probably wasn’t) - which wasn’t quite  _ cold _ but was enough that there was a nip in the air. Jacket weather, but not glove weather.

But, as she had reflected on that day many times, she had since noticed how gorgeous it had been. There had been dew on the grass as she and her parents had skated off to the car, her still rubbing sleep out her eyes and hair barely arranged past the point of being a bird’s nest. It had reflected sunlight, and the thin, gleaming droplets had winked at her as she passed.

Like they knew what was going to happen.

Platform 9 ¾ had been as beautifully chaotic as usual, of course. Sparks flying this way and that, the croak of toads not far in the distance, a thick crowd of black, dark green and velvet red robes shuffling as she swept past and into the train after having her final goodbyes.

Her parents had waved to her as the train whistle shrieked, and the wheels began to clatter.

She had a compartment to herself, as usual. It wasn’t that she was completely without friends - well, she supposed she  _ was, _ but she wasn’t without  _ compatriots, _ at least - but they were friends out of… necessity. Friends because you needed someone to talk to in class, and you couldn’t exactly be openly hostile to your roommate.

Not because they actually really, genuinely liked each other - just because they needed to hang out with  _ someone. _

She had cracked open a book and propped her feet up on the bench across from her, ready for another quiet, peaceful train ride.

And then the door had slid open.

She had glanced up from her book cover.

And this, she sometimes thought, was the moment her fate was sealed. The moment her life went into a slippery slide of complete insanity.

It was hard to pin down the  _ exact _ moment when she could no longer escape her fate, but when she glanced up and locked eyes with the boy might have been it.

Because she met the most beautiful pair of irises she had ever seen.

Green.

She was a sucker for green eyes.

And she had  _ never _ seen eyes as green as those ones.

The boy had blinked, which finally let her focus shift from those  _ wide, gorgeous eyes of his, _ and sweep over the rest of his figure. Long, black hair, untidy (though not quite as untidy as her’s) and tied back into a loose tail, little strands of coal black still loose and dangling. He was wearing thick, silver-rimmed spectacles and had a thin lightning-bolt scar on his forehead.

“Oh.” He said. His voice had an odd timbre to it - with a quality that made her think of amber, for some reason. “You’re-”

A small pause. 

“Ravenclaw.”

For some reason, he sounded slightly surprised.

She nodded shortly. “That I am. And you are?”

He blinked again at her slightly terse tone - she had always been a little bit sharp with everyone.

“Oh - er, sorry. Just didn’t expect the first person I found to be in the same house as I am.”

He set his trunk aside and offered her a hand.

“Tom Riddle.”

He had a small smile on his face, for some reason.

And, later, she would reflect that perhaps the moment she gripped his hand and felt criss-crossing scars on it was the one. Her curiosity had been piqued, then, anyway.

“Hermione Granger.”

“Nice to meet you, Hermione.” He had answered politely. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

He gestured to the seat across from her.

And, while those other two were certainly possibilities, she ultimately concluded 99% of the time, that  _ this _ was the moment. When Tom had gestured his hand to that seat with a tiny, polite smile on his face, and asked her to decide her fate.

And the moment her fate was sealed - the moment when her life started to get flipped upside-down - was when she looked at those green, green eyes of his, and answered,

“Not at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who knows what to put here at this point.
> 
> Not me, certainly.
> 
> Not as Smart as I Like to Think I Am,
> 
> -Howard R.


	8. So Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Harry share a train compartment.

It was very odd, seeing Hermione like this.

He sat in the compartment, wheels rattling fiercely below them. The scarlet-red walls were as comforting as ever, seeming to hug him with their closeness and causing a warm flow of safety to run from his head to his toes. It was so dreadfully familiar - sitting in the Hogwarts Express compartment with one of his best friends, sun just beginning to scrape the horizon out the window.

It only made it all the more  _ weird, _ then, that Hermione… wasn’t herself.

It wasn’t even the Ravenclaw tie that was throwing him off. Honestly, he wasn’t even really surprised the girl was a Ravenclaw. No, it was the way she  _ spoke. _

_ His _ Hermione talked… well, a lot, first of all. She had cracked open like an egg the second she had become a part of the golden trio, and started spilling thoughts and research like nothing else. Open as a book, with a tendency to ramble.

_ This _ Hermione was…

The best word was probably  _ clipped. _ Not quite  _ harsh, _ but just a tiny bit cold. Sharp. Maybe even a little rude, if you read the words the right way. To the point, with little meandering. She seemed to act almost like conversation, in and of itself, was a waste of time, and thus tried to convey her information and get to the bottom of his points as fast as possible.

It made sense, he supposed. If Hermione had been a part of Ravenclaw house, she had probably never been part of a really strong friend group. Ravenclaws formed  _ study _ groups, not friend groups. And, without a lot of friends, it would make sense that she would see conversation as a tool, instead of as entertainment.

But, while it did make sense, it did still throw him a little.

Though perhaps, in the end, it was for the best - because if there was  _ anyone _ who could prepare him for who he would meet when he arrived at the school again, it was this Hermione.

And she was  _ very _ good at answering questions.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask you about some of our professors?”

Hermione glanced up from her book with a raised eyebrow.

“Why? You don’t look like a first year.” Even her words were clipped and precise.

“No, I’m sixth, but I’m a transfer. Home schooled.”

Her eyes sharpened, almost alarmingly. Like he was suddenly worth paying attention to.

“Home schooled? What’s that like?” She asked quickly. Her words were even quicker when she was pursuing knowledge, apparently - sharp around the edges, almost prickly.

He smiled a little at her.

“Why don’t you tell me what Hogwarts is like?”

She blinked, looking suddenly vulnerable - like he had broken some unspoken rhythm in the conversation, and she needed a second to re-adjust.

“Er - it’s fine, I suppose.” Her words, when she was talking more casually, suddenly seemed a lot less precise. They almost seemed to stumble over each other, like the perfect dance she had whenever she was asking questions devolved into jerking half-steps in regular conversation.

_ Must be a lack of practice. _

“Fine?” He raised an eyebrow, smiling a little teasingly at her. “Isn’t Hogwarts the best in the country? I would assume it’s more than ‘fine’.”

She seemed so suddenly off-kilter with his teasing and questions. She looked, really, far less intimidating when caught off-guard.

It was almost cute.

“I mean - yes, it’s wonderful, of course, I just - wasn’t - well, I couldn’t quite gather my thoughts quickly enough.” Her sentences stumbled over each other, as if in a rush to see which thought could get out first.

“Then take your time.” He said simply, settling a little in his seat. “We have a whole train ride, after all.”

She looked so  _ uncomfortable. _ Like he was acting in some way that was staggeringly bizarre, and she was just doing her best to keep up.

“Er - I-”

She cut herself off, and took a deep breath in. She closed her eyes.

And then exhaled slowly.

It was almost jarring, seeing how quickly she managed to gather herself.

“Right. Well, what would you like to know? I can hardly describe everything, after all.”

And the slight snark was back, along with the perfect rhythm to her words.

“Why not?”

And he  _ saw _ the mental stumble at that question.

...This was starting to be alarmingly fun.

“Er - well - I mean, we hardly have enough time - I’ve been there for five years, after all - and besides, it would just be, easier, to - uh - to answer your questions. More structured.”

The way she stumbled over her words was starting to be a little bit endearing, especially since he could see incredibly clearly just how much she was embarrassed by it.

“Why does more structured mean easier?” He asked, as if it were the most simple question in the world.

And he could’ve  _ sworn _ Hermione actually had to re-boot.

* * *

Why was this so  _ hard?! _

She had talked to people before! She was hardly the embarrassed little girl she had been in first year, practically stumbling over her robes in her haste to prove herself and desperate for any scrap of approval. She was a  _ prefect, _ for Merlin’s sake, and suddenly she was stumbling over her words, unable to articulate herself for the first time in years - like she was a little girl all over again!

It was just - just  _ Tom. _

The way those eyes pierced her whenever he asked a question, almost seeming to demand she answer in an instant. Though nothing about the way he  _ acted _ said that, but those eyes were so utterly cold and distant - so  _ piercing, _ and green,  _ so green _ \- she could hardly bear to look at them.

And the way he  _ acted. _

It was so - so…

_ Weird! _

And she couldn’t focus, she couldn’t  _ think, _ and it was startling and worrying and  _ awful _ in a way she had never felt before - because of the way the corner of his lips turned up in a little curl when he smiled, and the teasing light in those eyes -  _ green, so green, she could hardly stand it _ \- and her words seemed to come out in a rush, desperate to answer him.

She wasn’t sure  _ why. _ To keep that light there? To force it away? To try and end the conversation - or make sure it didn’t die?

She couldn’t  _ tell, _ couldn’t  _ think, _ and it was suddenly so hard to just  _ talk _ in a way it never had been before, and-

She decided she didn’t like Tom.

“W-well, I mean,” she started, and felt the oddest, most foreign, itchy heat crawl up her neck. Merlin, she was actually  _ stuttering, _ what the hell?!

_ And why did he have to keep looking at her like that? _

“It’s just - uh - it’s just easier to organize my thoughts, if the conversation is structured.” She said, words finally regaining some firmness. She tried to gather herself, to  _ act right, goddammit, you’re not a little girl anymore Hermione. _

“Ah. Okay.” Tom said, with a nod and an understanding smile - her eyes found her way to those lips, and they  _ curled _ in that tiny way she had never seen before-

_ Why couldn’t she think straight?! _

“Hmm…” He glanced up, seeming to gather his thoughts, and she  _ finally _ had a moment to breathe and get a hold of herself. A moment without those  _ eyes _ on her.

She caught her breath, feeling like she had just exerted herself even though it had just been a simple conversation.

“Well, I guess I best ask after the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor first.” He decided, looking down at her again.

And, instantly, the control she had managed to gain started to slip the littlest bit when those  _ eyes _ found her.

Luckily, though, the conversation was finally starting to have some structure to it - something she could hold onto, solid and meaningful and scholarly. Without…  _ whatever _ it was about Tom and the way he conversed that made her feel so  _ uncomfortable. _

She grasped at that structure like a lifeline.

“Professor Gaunt.” She answered quickly, words clipped and precise and  _ finally falling off her tongue right, thank god. _ “He’s head of Slytherin house. Good teacher, too - never shows signs of bias, and his door’s always open if you need the help of a scholar. Probably one of the best teachers in the place.”

Tom blinked, looking surprised.

“Gaunt?”

“...Yes?” She said, confused by his confusion. “Marvolo Gaunt, last of his line if I’ve heard right. Never found a wife.”

Tom stared out the window for a long, long moment, eyes impossibly distant.

She stared at him. At the way the setting sunlight framed his face.

...She wasn’t sure what the feeling bubbling in her gut was.

“Uh - Tom?”

Tom glanced up, looking startled by his moment of blankness. His face instantly cleared off that dead-eyed stare, and Hermione had to push back the urge to sigh, relieved.

“Oh, sorry. Spaced out for a sec.” He smiled sheepishly.

His lip curled in that tiny way at the edges.

She shifted a little in her seat, uncomfortable and trying desperately to grasp at the conversation.

It wasn’t as bad as it had been the first time, though, she noted distantly.

“No problem.” She said instantly, words slightly too sharp. “Anymore questions?”

* * *

_ Marvolo Gaunt, last of his line. _

He wasn’t sure how to feel.

No wonder this world was so different - Voldemort had never even been  _ born. _

That was… good.

And yet, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something utterly, impossibly wrong about it.

...Oh. Right.

He was supposed to ask another question.

“Uh - yeah. What about the potions professor?” He smiled sheepishly. “Never been my best subject, so I do hope they aren’t too strict.”

And he never even noticed the way Hermione’s eyes darted to his lips for a split-second before she answered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, the truly important content - at least on ao3 - has begun. Romance.
> 
> Hermione and Harry, sitting in a tree.
> 
> Okay, the crush will likely be MAJORLY toned down later on, because Hermione as a stumbling lovestruck fool never struck me as accurate. And the fact that she HATES being exactly that will help her get over her crush quicker, so she shouldn't be anywhere near as bad next chapter. Or any chapter after that.
> 
> Though that doesn't mean I won't take advantage of this crush. I do so love embarrassing my characters, after all.
> 
> Not as Smart as I Like to Think I Am,
> 
> -Howard R.
> 
> P.S: Happy July Fourth!


	9. Fascinating

It swiftly became much easier to talk to Tom.

The biggest reason for that was probably just that Tom  _ insisted _ on talking to her. Like, a lot. It was almost odd, really, how he pursued conversation like prey - jumping at little things she said and asking her to explain them, or trying to get her to talk about her favorite classes, or something else tiny and ridiculous. It was like… 

Nothing. It wasn’t like anything.

She was  _ very _ good at learning, though, and thus, she quickly found her groove in the conversation. She sussed out the way Tom seemed to constantly ask questions and distracted her, and managed to grow used to it. She learned to talk to him, as she would talk to any of her other housemates.

But Tom was the  _ weirdest _ Ravenclaw she had ever met.

And he was  _ fascinating. _

He seemed to know so little, and yet, the way his eyes sharpened on details and the way he asked questions seemed to suggest he knew more. He pursued only the things that led to entire branches of conversation - and never the tiny details that tapered off into nothing.

Her first foray into studying Tom - something which would later become a habit of sorts - was counting his scars.

There was a thin, spidery patterns of lines on his hand that she had yet to get a clear look at, and yet, almost looked like letters. He had a busted lip, too, like he had fallen recently. She had caught a glimpse of what looked like a gash on his arm.

And, of course, the tiny lightning-bolt shaped scar on his forehead.

She was very, very quickly becoming far too interested in him.

“Oh, yeah - I meant to ask about the students in our year.” He said, when the ride had started to really get underway. “Any I should look out for?”

“Well, it depends in what way you mean.” She answered quickly, once again very grateful to find that the words were once again rolling off her tongue perfectly. “If you’re looking for the smart ones, then Black and Potter are probably your best bet outside Ravenclaw. If you want someone friendly to give you directions, Hannah Abbot’ll set you straight - has eyes like a hawk and a head for directions. If you want someone to look  _ out _ for…”

She considered.

“Well, Draco Malfoy is probably the biggest snob, but he’ll probably leave you alone unless you provoke him. Lestrange is the real sadist - if you catch  _ his _ attention, then…”

She trailed off suggestively. Tom seemed to get the message.

“Oh, and I’d say the same for Black and Potter on that front, too. They’re perfectly nice - if a little mischievous - if left alone, but don’t get on their bad side.”

“Okay, who’re Black and Potter?” Tom said instantly. His eyes-

_ (Green, so green, impossibly so) _

-were sharp upon her as she answered, in a way that she didn’t have time to study before the words had left her mouth.

“Oh, they’re the class clowns. Alcor Black and Harry Potter. Wonderful at Transfiguration, and Potter’s a dab hand at Charms. Black’s got some skills at dueling, though his DADA score is brought down because he isn’t good with creatures. You’d think they’re brothers, with how they’re practically stuck at the hip.”

Tom glanced out the window.

She had noticed this, too. The way Tom sometimes seemed to just… pause. Eyes hazy and distant, he’d just stare in some random direction and do nothing at all, face completely blank.

It was, honestly, a bit alarming.

She snapped her fingers in front of his face. He started slightly, and smiled sheepishly again.

“Sorry.” He said instantly. “Er - what about Potions? Anyone I can go to for help on that subject?”

“Well, I’m not bad.” She said.

It wasn’t a brag, or a desperate attempt to get him to hang out with her more. It wasn’t needling, or weak, or smug.

It was just a fact, and it rolled off her tongue accordingly. Completely neutral.

“Malfoy is actually very good, too, though he’s less liable to help you if you ask him.”

Tom nodded, as if she had simply confirmed something he had already known.

“Any other teachers I should know about?”

Hermione considered that question.

“Well, Professor Hagrid is the resident magical creatures expert. If you need help with any pets or animals, he’ll give it to you, no questions asked. Vector is Arithmancy - strict as a devil, that one, though she’s got a soft spot for any student that really excels. Flitwick is our head of house, and the Charms professor. And the Muggle Studies professor, Lily Potter - she’s the mother of Harry Potter - will help you if you have any issues with another student.”

Tom blinked at this information - something he did rather a lot. She had almost come to accept that it was just something he did whenever he got  _ any _ new information about Hogwarts - but it wasn’t quite consistent enough.

She’d have to figure out what it meant later.

“...Right. Okay.” He said, after a moment. “What about the Ancient Runes professor? I’ve got that as an elective.”

* * *

Harry staggered.

“Uh - Tom? Are you alright?” Hermione asked, the tiniest bit of concern leaking into her voice. He straightened, recovering quickly from his momentary lapse in control, and smiled his most reassuring smile at her.

“Fine, Hermione.” He said. “Let’s find a carriage, eh?”

Hermione looked suspicious, but nodded anyway.

He had lost control of his legs, for the shortest moment, because the realization had hit him like a ton of bricks.

If Voldemort had never been born - then why did Dumbledore react so strongly when he said his name?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slightly shorter chapter, but whatevs. That felt like a good place to finish.
> 
> I don't love this chapter, honestly, except maybe that last little bit - but I needed to do a bit of settup, and make sure that Hermione wasn't a lovestruck fool for the rest of the story. That was just a fluke, as far as she's - and the story; at this point, anyway - is concerned.
> 
> Not as Smart as I Like to Think I Am,
> 
> -Howard R.


	10. Not Hungry

“Oh. Hello, Hermione and mysterious boy with striking green eyes I have never met before.”

He turned to yet another friend in a stranger’s coat, and smiled when he found Luna sitting alone in the carriage. He sat down easily and offered his hand to the girl who had rode with him on the back of a thestral to chase down his godfather.

She looked no different then she had in his world, all the way down to the lack of shoes and Ravenclaw tie.

“Thank you.” He said - for the ‘striking eyes’ part, though he knew they weren’t  _ his _ eyes. “I’m Tom Riddle, sixth year transfer.”

Luna took his hand and turned it over, inspecting his palm. He noticed Hermione rub at the bridge of her nose in exasperation.

“...Oh.”

For some reason, Luna’s voice came out a little breathy.

_ “Fascinating.” _

Harry blinked, more then a little surprised by the almost  _ worshipful _ note that Luna’s voice had taken. The blonde glanced up and smiled widely at him, eyes glittering.

“I approve of your new friend, Hermione.” The girl said serenely, turning towards the girl in question.

“As appreciative as I am, Lovegood, I neither desire nor care about your approval.” Hermione said, in that same slightly clipped tone he had heard the entire train ride as she sat down. “Tom, can we find another carriage maybe?”

He blinked at her, confused.

“...What’s wrong with this one?”

And Hermione looked equally surprised, blinking at him in uncomprehension.

Luna turned a piercing eye on him. He couldn’t help but turn to meet it, and nearly had his breath taken away by the sudden intensity of Luna’s gaze.

“...I’m Luna Lovegood.” The girl said, after a long moment of simply staring at him. She settled back in her seat, letting go of his hand (which he hadn’t even noticed she was still holding, palm-up). “Pleased to meet you, Tom Riddle.”

“You too, Luna.” He said with a smile. “And please, Tom is fine.”

The blonde smiled serenely at him, eyes dreamy and distant again. “Do you like constellations, Tom?”

And thus began a very fruitful carriage ride with a very silent Hermione and a wonderfully conversational Luna.

He staggered again.

He was starting to get tired of staggering, actually.

“Wha - Tom?”

Hermione reached out and steadied him. He leaned on her slightly as the world righted itself, and smiled his thanks at her.

He noticed her eyelid twitch slightly when he did, but she otherwise didn’t react.

“Thanks.”

“Are you…  _ sure _ you’re okay? That’s the second time in twenty minutes.” Hermione said, peering at him. Luna looked on from a slight distance, seemingly ever-so-slightly concerned as well.

  
“Yeah, fine. Just - didn’t have enough to eat, probably. I’ll be fine when the feast starts.”

Hermione looked a little suspicious, but nodded anyway.

Luna, on the other hand, sent him an incredibly piercing look. More piercing then his Luna had ever looked at  _ anything. _

He raised a questioning eyebrow at her, and she turned to begin walking to the Ravenclaw table again. He followed, pointedly not looking at his incredibly  _ alive _ mother sitting at the head table and having a cheerful discussion with  _ Snape, _ of all people.

When he found a seat next to Hermione and across from Luna, he collapsed in it, legs finally loosing strength. Hermione clearly noticed, and sent him another thinly-veiled suspicious glare.

He smiled weakly at her.

The doors opened.

He looked up at the line of first years, and  _ okay he was actually done having massive shocks now thanks. _

Because a miniature version of Remus with eye-watering aquamarine hair was in the lineup and  _ what the actual fuck. _

He was suddenly reminded forcefully of Dumbledore’s remarks about Teddy Lupin when they first met. Something about him being a Metamorphmagus.

But - surely Remus and - and  _ Tonks _ didn’t…? Besides, Tonks was too young to have a kid - or at least, too young to have one that was eleven now.

Well, he supposed, it  _ was _ an alternate universe…

And the two weren’t…  _ totally _ incompatible…

He de-railed that line of thought quickly, especially since Hermione was giving him another suspicious look.

“Tom?”

“Sorry.” He said quietly. “Just - thought I saw someone I recognized.”

Hermione gave him a full-on unveiled suspicious glare, but he pointedly ignored it.

He resolved to not get the shock of his life as his eyes drifted along the Gryffindor table, looking for two faces in particular.

He managed to keep that resolve when he found his counterpart and Sirius’s son, though he was a touch surprised.

He had expected his counterpart to look…

Well, more like him, first of all.

The eyes were the biggest difference. This alternate Harry had clearly inherited his eyes from Dad, not Mom, because they were almond-brown and warm enough to melt the heart of nearly anyone. He saw Mom in other parts of him, though - he was still more spindly then the pictures of James he had seen would suggest he should be, and he had Mom’s paleness. He also noticed that the boy had little speckles of red in his hair, though how the hell that worked genetically was beyond him.

Well, he supposed, it was probably something magic anyway.

His - well,  _ Harry’s _ \- hair was also lighter than Tom’s was, though still closer to black then light brown. And of course, he was missing an important scar.

And his face was a lot… younger, for lack of a better word.

He let his eyes drift to the boy lounging next to him then, and had to choke back a tiny, dry sob.

He was practically Sirius’s carbon copy. Same glittering silver-grey eyes, same massive cheshire grin, same strong jawline and high cheekbones. It was almost exactly as Sirius had looked in Snape’s memory.

Tom resolved to start looking for the mother, though, and began to find it.

The nose was different - smaller, more distinctive, with this oddly sharp triangular shape that he had never seen before. The hair, too, he was just beginning to notice the hair - tied back in a tail, and slightly too light. Maybe a bit rougher, too. Coarser.

But it was definitely more Sirius’s son then anyone else’s.

It was pure curiosity that caused his eyes to drift to the other tables as the sorting began. He resolved to pay attention when Teddy was sorted, but, other then that, mostly ignored it, in favor of looking among the students.

The first familiar face was Neville, who was watching the sorting attentively but still occasionally giving a response to one of the friends around him. He was at the Hufflepuff table, but Harry wasn’t really surprised by that.

He also noticed that Susan Bones - a great member of the DA, if he remembered right - was sitting at the Gryffindor table instead of Hufflepuff, looking at his counterpart and Black with thinly veiled disgust. When he glanced at them, he understood why - they had no better table manners then Ron.

Speaking of Ron - where were the Weasleys?

He found a clan of them at the far end of the Gryffindor table, though there were more then there should’ve been.

Ron and Ginny were still there - Fred and George had graduated already, Harry supposed. They were absent. But there were several new faces among the bunch. A grinning boy next to Ron who looked a bit like Charlie, but with something in the tilt of his features that was a bit too sharp for him. And a lazily lounging child who was watching the rest of the Weasleys with a light, sincere smile, sitting next to Ginny.

He was more surprised by who he found at the Slytherin table.

Draco was still there, of course, as were a few other children he recognized. And he saw a child who had a hauntingly familiar light in his eyes that he had a sneaking suspicion was Lestrange.

The Weasley at the end of the table caught him off guard, though.

He was sitting completely alone, isolated from the rest. A fifth or sixth year, judging by the book he was reading, though he was tiny and thin. He had a pair of square spectacles with a texture like a tortoise shell making up the rims, and a kind of deep haziness in his eyes that Harry had never seen on the face of a Weasley.

But there was no mistaking the red hair and freckles.

“Hey-” he whispered, nudging Hermione. “Who’s that at the end of the Slytherin table?”

Hermione glanced at where he was pointing and clearly dismissed the child in an instant, mumbling back absently,

“Oh, that’s Kydra Prewett. He’s… unnoteworthy.”

Harry didn’t believe her for an instant. He vaguely remembered Ron mentioning that Prewett was Molly’s maiden name.

He resolved to speak to the boy as soon as possible.

McGonagall was here in this world, too. She looked almost exactly the same - maybe a little younger. She placed the Sorting Hat on the stool in front of the hall - and it opened its brim to sing.

Harry tuned it out. He’d heard the hat ramble about the houses enough times before.

After it was done, McGonagall began calling names. He didn’t recognize any of them - though he dutifully clapped along whenever someone was sorted into Ravenclaw. Teddy Lupin got sorted into Hufflepuff, which wasn’t very surprising. Harry tried not to think too much about the circumstances of Tonks and Lupin having a child - it was just weird, if you asked him.

Dumbledore stood to make his speech, and Harry tuned back in.

“A few start-of-term announcements before I allow you all to eat,” he said, with a genial smile. “First, as always, the Forbidden Forest lives up to its namesake by being - forbidden. To  _ all _ students. Secondly, our caretake, Mr. Filch, has asked me to remind you that puffskeins are not allowed to be kept as pets. He is tired of cleaning up their hairs. And now, without further adieu - let us feast.”

He clapped his hands - and food appeared on every plate and bowl in the hall.

Harry stared into the plate of rolls just across from him - and realized that, for the first time in years, he had no desire to eat from the Hogwarts feast.

He wasn’t hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Uhm. I'm back! I guess updates will be inconsistent for this fic, huh? I'll try to have another one out by December 10th, but no promises. I'm really sorry for just vanishing like that - but I've returned! And no, this fic is not abandoned! So, uhm - hooray?
> 
> Not as Smart as I like to Think I Am,
> 
> -Howard R.


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